


i'm looking for affection in all the wrong places

by lavenderss



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Pre-Canon, and then how she became a bitch, basically before Lu was a bitch, because she wasn't always in my books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderss/pseuds/lavenderss
Summary: Lu is thirteen when she gets off a private jet and steps foot on Spanish soil for the first time.A thin, curly-haired face props over her shoulder and signifies: “Nothing special. Same old shit.”OR: Before Lu was a bitch, she had a bad nickname, an unattainable crush... and an annoying brother.
Relationships: Carla&Lu friendship, Lucrecia "Lu" Montesinos Hendrich/Guzmán Nunier Osuna, Lucrecia "Lu" Montesinos Hendrich/Valerio Montesinos Hendrich, background Carla/Polo - Relationship
Comments: 24
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am literally going to fail math because I became obsessed with this and wrote it instead of studying. I definitely want to write a continuation, but I don't know when that will happen, so this is the current state. Enjoy hh (also this is very "innocent" since it's about 13 year olds so absolutely no risky behaviours incestuous or not just some cute childish stuff.)

Lu is freshly thirteen when she gets off a private jet (a simple favour from a sheikh to her father, who has provided him with so many favours that even a gold-plated plane wouldn't be enough to pay him back) and steps foot on Spanish soil for the first time.

A thin, curly-haired face props over her shoulder and signifies: “Nothing special. Same old shit.”

She giggles, then comes to a halt immediately as she feels the slap on top of Valerio's head resonate within her own bones. “Behave yourselves,” a voice says, a voice so majestic that Lu won't turn around to disrupt it. “We're being driven by the personal driver of a noblewoman. They're doing us a favour, and you won't stain my name even before the dinner we have with them tomorrow.”

“Papá, you should've told me sooner! I don't know what dress I'm gonna wear!” Lu turns agitatedly, panic in her eyes.

“You're gonna look cute in anything you pick, piglet,” her dad says, pats her head with the gentleness her brother could've used a few seconds ago, and prompts them to go down.

“ _You're gonna look cute no matter what you pick, piglet,_ ” Valerio mimicks in the limousine. Lu kicks him in the shin, cheeks burning with fury.

¤

The dress she wears is pink and sparkly. She knows it's a mistake the second she sees the marquise's daughter: she's blonde, lean and graceful, her dress has the colour of champagne and her hair is up in an elegant bun. Lu wants to take out her stupid headband with a bow and poke it into her ear until she bleeds, if it meant she could escape.

The other girl at the table, the one Lu is sat next to, is bickering with a blond boy – her brother? – and wears a white dress with red polka dots. Lu thinks she looks like a knockoff version of the girl from Grease, but doesn't point it out. “Hi,” she smiles sweetly instead. “I'm Lu.”

It's her go-to if she needs to seem approachable. She hates the diminuitive, it makes her sound like a chihuaha, but she figures it's the better option in her current position.

The girl turns around, her uninhibited orange curls brushing Lu's cheek, thoroughly examines her – the bow, the pink dress with glitter, the puffy cheeks – and retorts to hitting her brother with an escargot fork without saying a word.

Her brother spares exactly one glance full of judgment for Lu in the middle of their fight. The glance turns all of the hopeful butterfly wings she's felt since she first saw him into icy blades cutting through her stomach walls as they flutter back and forth.

Valerio scoffs. He's older than all of them, hates his stupid suit, and doesn't want to be there at all.

“I'm Carla,” the girl sitting opposite of her announces, her hand stretched over the table. Lu, infinitely grateful, takes it and shakes, feeling as if she gripped too hard, the girl's slender fingers thinly veiled with blue-blooded veins could snap under her. She'd hate to make that happen.

“I'm Lucrecia,” she responds, hoping she doesn't sound as desperately relieved as she feels. “I like your ring.”

“Thanks,” Carla smiles.

“ _Lucrecia?_ ” the ginger girl sitting next to her seems to have caught an interest, or more specifically, was told off for making holes into her brother's custom-made Armani suit and needs a new source of amusement. “How do you spell it? Because we just learned about Shakespeare, and he wrote this poem inspired by Roman tradition. Lucretia was the woman who was raped by a raider, and then she killed herself.”

“Marina,” Carla hisses, outraged. Her eyes look like they could cut through glass. “Our parents are right there.”

Marina shakes her head nonchalantly, red spots and orange ringlets mixing on the fabric of her dress, loud, loud, _loud_. “What? It's a part of our school curriculum. We're discussing how educational topics link to real life.”

Lu hates her, now and there, but can't do much other about it than smile stiffly into her lap and hope her eyes aren't going to water.

“Lucretia was also the reason why the Roman Empire became a Republic,” Valerio joins the conversation for the first time, voice disinterested, matter-of-fact. “Without her sacrifice, your beloved trips to the colosseum would be much bloodier.”

Marina opens her mouth and flaps it shut again.

“Besides, she spells it with a C. But to avoid any confusion, just call her Lu.” He grins maliciously, ignores Lu's protest, winks at Guzmán. “It has the bonus effect of driving her insane.”

Just when smiles start spreading across everyone's faces and Lu gratefully presses Valerio's hand under the table – followed by a subtle kick for the betrayal – her father emerges behind her, puts her hand on her shoulder and presses. Lu rolls her eyes even before he opens his mouth.

“Having fun, piglet?”

Well. So much for everything starting to go well.

¤

“My parents have a ton of stupid nicknames for me,” Carla brings up, the two of them hanging out by the glass vitraine in the living room with their non-alcoholic watermelon cocktails. Marina and Guzmán are outside on the patio with their parents, and Valerio is there, too, eyes glued to his smartphone. Lu doesn't doubt their father will give him shit for it once they get home.

“Can't be worse,” she murmurs. Takes a gulp of her drink. Realizes that she has already engulfed half of her glass, while Carla's been taking dainty sips and it's barely noticeable she has drunk anything at all. The shame stings. To distract herself from it, she looks at the tips of her velvet flats and says: “Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way.”

“Marina can be a lot,” Carla replies pensievely, crushed ice cracking beteen her teeth. “But she's nice once you get to know her.”

Lu highly doubts that and really wishes she could snort, but doesn't. Instead, she automatically takes another sip and wants to hit herself in the head immediately.

“You're really pretty,” she blurts out.

“Thanks,” Carla smiles mellowly. “You too.”

Lies, lies, lies. This time, Lu can't control the snort. Small, but definitely there.

“Seriously,” Carla stands her ground, voice persuasive and firm. “I love your dress. It's so pretty, like for a princess, mine is just plain and boring.”

Lu, momentarily startled, doesn't know how to respond.

“And I didn't really help with Marina,” Carla continues. “Your brother was really good at shutting her up. I'd take lessons from him,” she giggles, twisting a loose strand of hair on her finger. “Marina's just going through a _rebellious phase of puberty,_ but it gets really annoying sometimes.”

Lu chuckles. Carla's funny, she crinkles her nose like a rabbit and makes little annoyed gestures when she speaks about something displeasing. “She and her brother look nothing alike,” she points out, piggy-pink climbing up her cheeks immediately after saying it.

“They're not real siblings,” Carla shrugs casually, then gives Lu a second glance and shows a row of pearl teeth. “You like Guzmán, huh?”

“We haven't even spoken yet,” Lu dismisses, hoping the burn is just internal.

Carla sets her glass down, takes Lu's hand and mischeviously leans into her ear. “But he still eats his goobers, and I know for a fact he hasn't kissed anyone yet,” she whispers, giddy with secrecy. “Everyone thinks he's super-cool and experienced, but he's totally green behind his ears.”

Lu stifles her laugh in the palm of her hand, her heart internally jumping with happiness because she hasn't kissed anyone yet, either, so that means her and Guzmán would be in the same boat.

“Your brother looks like he'd be a good kisser,” Carla confides, then goes back for her cocktail and slurps, eyes glistening excitedly.

¤

A month later, halfway into the first month of summer break, Lu already knows that Carla's favourite ice-cream flavour is raspberry sorbet, she has a boyfriend that she can do _anything she wishes with_ (the wishes are left unspecified), and thinks Valerio is cute.

“Aren't you not supposed to talk about Valerio like that, then?” she asks, slightly offended and slightly in awe. They're splouched on Carla's bed and going through tween magazines.

“What, because I have a boyfriend, I can't have eyes?” Carla retorts, flipping over the page from a test of _Which One Direction member you should go on a date with_ to a more daunting, yet much more useful article with _Tips for the perfect first kiss_.

“Have you kissed him yet?” Lu investigates.

Carla shrugs, throws her head back so her blonde hair floats like a halo around her head, and anounces: “We're on a _break_.”

That doesn't give Lu the answer she needs, only more intriguing questions. “Why?”

“I don't know. He was annoying me,” Carla flips through the pages dissatisfiedly. “Always behind me like a shadow, _Carla this, Carla that._ It's called an _invasive_ boyfriend. I googled it.”

“Why don't you break up with him, then?” Lu asks, taking a bonbon bear out of the package she snuck (Carla doesn't have sweets at home) and popping it in her mouth.

Carla looks at her like she's gone crazy. “I'm never going to break up with him. I _love him_.”

Lu crumples the cellophane between her fingers, mind racing.

“We're gonna get married,” Carla states firmly, watching Lu's badly concealed skepticism. “He might be annyoing sometimes, but he is mine. And I'm his.”

Lu licks her lip, swallows her doubts and rolls the candy wrapper into a ball. Carla, obviously set on closing the topic, returns to her normal playful stance, sparkly eyes and legs kicking the duvet, plops from sitting up back to laying next to Lu. “So. What are we going to do about you and Guzmán?”

Lu sighs heavily, head falling down. “I don't know,” she mumbles into Carla's blue satin pillow. “It's pointless.”

“Of course it's not,” Carla shakes he head resolutely. “We can all have a party next week. We're gonna play _Spin the bottle_ and you two are gonna kiss.”

Lu groans inaudibly into the soft fabric.

“And he'll realize that he's in love with you,” Carla announces triumphantly, drags the pillow from beneath Lu's face, doesn't bat an eye at the sweat mark and drags Lu up to her feet. “Come on. I want ice-cream and to go to the pool.”

Lu doesn't get ice-cream when she sees Carla's stick-thin legs in her blue bikini with mermaid shells. Her own swimsuit is one-piece and gold. She looks like a shiny sausage.

¤

Carla is so efficient that the pool party sleepover arrangements are made for a week later ( at Guzmán's house because Carla's parents will be hosting a dinner). Lu spends that whole week giddy, dancing through the house in elated anticipation.

Nothing can make it go wrong, so she fights with Valerio after she'd heard shouts from the kitchen. “Why do you have to fight all the time? Today is important for me! I need dad in a good mood, I want him to buy the cool cupcakes!”

They have ocean-like airbrushed frosting with dolphin sprinkles. Lu thinks they'll be perfect for a pool party.

“Shut up,” Valerio growls in response, pushing her. She stumbles and almost falls down the stairs. “And that blond idiot doesn't like you anyway!” he yells, having ran up to the top.

“You shut up!” Lu yells ravingly. “And you hurt my ankle, idiot!”

“Well then I'm very sorry!” Valerio mimicks sarcastically and disappears behind the corner, to go in his room.

“What did he do, piglet?” her father's voice roars with a mixture of threat and impossible irritation. Lu has asked him millions of times not to use that nickname.

“Nothing,” she turns her head around, puts on a big shiny smile and walks down. “Could we please stop at the cupcake shop on the way? I think those blue ones will be perfect.”

“Of course,” her father smiles warmly. “Anything to make my little piglet happy.”

Lu hates, hates, _hates_ Winnie the Pooh. She especially hates that group costume on Halloween when she was three years old. All of the kids in her nursery got a character, and she, because she was the smallest, was that stupid, idiotic, pink pig that her father can't get over. _But you were so cute!_ Of course.

She'd care less if the nickname hadn't gained a tint of a different reasoning in the recent years.

¤

It takes around three minutes to realize that everything is _bound_ to go terribly wrong. Marina lifts her eyebrow a mile high when she sees the parchment-white box with golden lettering and a plastic window showing the nicest cupcakes on the planet, 8 Euro per one. “We _have_ food here, you know?”

“It's nice of you, Lu,” Guzmán says, because he's polite, grabs the box from her and puts it on the kitchen table. “Everyone's by the pool,” he says, back to her.

“Uh, thanks for inviting me,” Lu stalls, set on entering the pool area with Guzmán by her side.

“Well, it was yours and Carla's idea, no?” Guzmán shrugs, shoulders still back to her. “It would be pretty mean not to.”

Lu bites her lip and walks through the living room to the terrace. Carla and her kiss on both cheeks, Carla nudges her into stripping from her dress into her new two-piece swimsuit, and the fun begins. First, the water fight is just Lu, Carla and Polo (losing miserably against the joint girl power), but then Guzmán and Ander and finally Marina join, boys versus girls, the pool fills with laughter and screams. Lu is the smallest, which gives her an unfair disadvantage: she can barely reach the floor. It's not surprising when the water closes over her head – it's surprising when someone grabs her by the forearm and pulls her back up to her feet.

“Sorry,” Guzmán says, grip still firm on her arm, droplets of water on eyelashes. “It's hard to fight fair with you, you're tiny.”

It sounds like such a compliment coming from him, hair golden under the sun, wide smile stretching out on his face. “Thanks,” Lu mumbles, starstruck. He smiles and turns around to return to the fight.

She hits him with a huge wave five seconds later. She might be tiny, but she's fierce. He grumbles a little in surprise, then that angelic smile reappears again and he throws himself at her with a splash of water. She squeals and tries to fight back, half-drowning because she's unable to stop laughing.

Maybe if Carla feels like _this_ with Polo, she knows what she's talking about when she says _love_.

¤

The real selling point of the evening takes place when they're all full of pizza, hair semi-dry, bodies semi-clothed or wrapped in towels. Lu's wearing a t-shirt and her bikini bottoms, sharing her lilac towel to sit on with Carla.

The glass bottle is from real vodka (none of them had any, they stole it empty from Guzmán's father's study). Lu can't take her eyes off it in the middle of their circle. It's hypnotizing; she's never been so nervous. Marina pretends that it's _lame_ and she doesn't care, but still fidgets with the rainbow fringing on her swimsuit, giving her away.

The only person who looks even more uncomfortable is Polo, sitting like a schoolboy with his hands on his knees. Carla and him aren't on a _break_ anymore, but Carla looks way too excited to play this game (where _relationship rules don't apply, because it's a_ game _, Polo_ ) which he's not too happy about.

“Who wants to start?” Carla asks, hand already on the vodka bottle. “Okay, I will.”

The neck points to Ander. He shoots a quick wary glance to Polo, but Carla's already on her knees, crawling over with a smile. She pecks his lips sweetly, then returns to her place and smiles innocently like nothing's happened. “Now you, Ander.”

The bottle lands on Marina. Voicelessly, she waits for Ander to approach her. He shakily leans in and they kiss quickly. She stifles a giggle.

It doesn't seem too difficult. Lu's been worried about it, but really, kissing isn't rocket science.

Marina's bottle spins for five laps before finally landing on Polo. The ginger examines the bottle, then lifts her head and her pupils turn into question marks. “Carla?”

“It's a game,” Carla answers nonchalantly, but when Marina crawls over and her lips touch Polo's, Carla stiffens and claws her nails into her palm. Lu wordlessly puts her hand on top of the blonde's fist.

Polo shrugs everything off, not seeming nearly as affected, lazily spins and the neck lands on Guzmán.

Everyone giggles, chuckles or apprehensively stares at the chosen one like a deer in the headlights. The latter would be Polo's case – he's looking at Guzmán sitting opposite of him like he's a freshly materialized ghost.

“What?” Guzmán defiantly resists all of their curious stares. “It's just a game, jesus.”

Lu halts her breath when Guzmán, with smug grin on his face, approaches Polo. “Ready, bro?” He doesn't stop at the last-minute, like they've all thought he would. The boys' lips touch for a millisecond.

Marina groans with a mixture of annoyance and amusement, Polo is frozen and Guzmán reaches for the bottle. “Let's hope we won't have to repeat that, your breath stinks,” he casually utters, earning a chuckle from Ander, and sets the bottle on its course.

The time slows down ten-hundred times as Lu, already having trouble digesting how _cool_ Guzmán really is, watches the bottle twirl, twirl, twirl. She thinks she's gonna puke, but nicely, if that's possible. Her heart has never beat so fast, but it goes even faster, about to jump out of her chest, when the bottle slows down and it's coming for her, her, her-

Everyone stares at the bottleneck pointing in the direction of the lilac towel. Marina speaks first. “Is it on Lu or Carla?”

“Hard to tell, when you're all over each other,” Ander growls. “That's so _gay_.”

“Shut up,” Carla dismisses his stupid joke light-heartedly. “It's on Lu.”

Lu's heart beats so loud she thinks everyone must hear it.

“Sit straight,” Marina instructs them, so Lu leans back a little.

“It's on Carla,” Polo says.

“It's not,” Carla protests, but noone's listening.

“I think so, too,” Marina adds, the malice under her ocean-blue eyes sealing Lu's fate. Guzmán, who hasn't said a word ever since the argument started, is by Carla's side within a second. He puts his hand on her cheek and _kisses_.

It's not like all of the previous pecks. This lasts at least five seconds, five endlessly long seconds in which Lu is physically frozen and can't look away from the hell that's taking place centimetres away from her. Guzmán _must've_ kissed someone before (not counting Polo) because this looks _good_ , so good, and Lu can only imagine how he'd taste on her lips that she's painted with vanilla lip balm right before the game started. Just for him. For what he's doing with _Carla_ right now.

Carla pushes him off and the time returns to its natural course, except everything's louder now and falling on Lu's head. “Stop,” Carla says, it sounds hollow and deep. “What are you doing? It was supposed to be Lu. The bottle landed on her.”

 _It was supposed to be Lu, but it wasn't,_ Lu thinks in her brain fog. She's really gonna throw up now. The pizza and cotton candy and lemonade are swirling in her stomach. She springs up to her feet wordlessly.

The shouting match behind her, she hears in echoes. “Why did you do that?” Carla yells. “You can't kiss me like that, I have a boyfriend!”

“I don't mind,” Polo's whisper sounds ethereal.

“You said yourself that it's a game!” Guzmán fights back. “What the fuck is your problem, Carla!”

“The bottle landed between us! You know Lu likes you, why couldn't you just kiss her!”

“Because I wanted to kiss _you_!” Guzmán blurts out. “I don't like _her,_ I like you! She's childish and annoying and _fat_!”

“You know that she's still dating Polo,” Marina adds casually, obviously enjoying the drama, but Lu doesn't hear that. She throws up into the box of almost untouched cupcakes. The one that's missing was eaten by herself.

¤

“What's wrong?” Valerio asks on the other side of the phone. She's not trying to hide that she's crying.

“I need to get out of here,” Lu hiccups, unsure of what _here_ means because she's wandered off Guzmán's street. “Please, come pick me up. I don't want dad to know.”

“How am I supposed to pick you up, I don't have a car,” Valerio sighs, and Lu wails miserably.

“I don't-”

“I'll be there,” Valerio promises. “Just tell me the address.”

They live ten minutes from each other, so he doesn't need a car. He shows up on her bike, one that's so small for him that he's practically dragging his knees along the ground. “Hop on,” he says quietly, not asking anything. Lu is eternally grateful, so much that she only sniffles when she sits on the mudguard because it's the only, uncomfortable option, and wraps her hands around his torso not to fall down.

“Thanks,” she says and means it.

It would've probably taken less time to go by foot. They fall over twice.

The third time is Lu's tipping point. She sits off the bike, on the edge of the pavement, and buries her head between her knees. “He's right! I'm _fat!_ ”

“No, you're just stupid,” Valerio's hovering over her. “We have to get home before dad realizes I'm not here, if you want him not to notice you. So get up and stop talking nonsense.”

¤

He drags her into his room before she can protest (she wouldn't have, anyways). “Will you tell me what happened?” he asks, serious dark eyes on her.

Lu's calmed crying turns into miserable whale-wails in a matter of seconds. “He said that he likes Carla and kissed her because I'm childish and annoying and fat!” she confesses her biggest embarrassment. Her feelings broke a dam. “And he's right! Everyone likes Carla, and noone likes me! _I_ like Carla more than me, she's definitely a lot prettier, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!” She falls over, buries her face in Valerio's lap. “I really get Guzmán, I do,” she murmurs desperately. “I'd kiss Carla if I had the choice between the two of us.”

“Jesus,” Valerio just sighs, forcing her to sit up and taking her face into his hands. “Lu, listen to me. You're not fat. You're beautiful. Guzmán is an idiot. And concerning Carla,” his fixed stare is drilling through Lu's brain, “She's nothing special.”

It's such an absurd _untruth_ that Lu stops crying. “That's not true,” she shakes her head resolutely, leftover tears still falling down her cheeks. “Everyone likes her. _Everyone._ ”

What hurts most is that she's one of them. Lu can't hate Carla because she's the best friend she has here, which makes everything a million times worse. Lu can't hate her because she knows exactly _why_ everyone likes her.

It's hard not to like someone so effortlessly perfect in every aspect of their being.

“ _I_ don't like Carla,” Valerio shakes his head. “Does that help?”

“She thinks you're cute,” Lu blurts out stupidly. It's her thing to add fuel to the flames. If Valerio didn't like Carla before, he sure as hell will now, and it will hurt, but Lu always faces the most pain she can, so that she's prepared.

“So?” Valerio raises his eyebrow.

Lu laughs grimly. “Don't tell me you don't care.”

“I don't,” Valerio sighs, acting exhaustion. “Jesus, Lu, I'm not into my little sister's friends. That's just weird. And even if she wasn't your friend,” he continues, eyes impossibly deeper now, so deep that Lu's drowning and it's not because of her tears, because they're all dry now with shock. “Trust me when I tell you. You're much prettier than Carla.”

Lu doesn't know what happens next. The only thing she knows is that her lips are on Valerio's, soft, plump, chapped around the edges, and he tastes like secret cigarettes and his favourite caramels she knows he eats by packets, not counts of three.

She realizes he's kissing back, lips slightly parted, and that pushes her out of her frenzy. She stiffens instantly, he pulls back.

_Shit._

Both of them are quiet, staring straight at his door.

“I'm sorry,” Lu says, squeaky and impossibly full of hatred for herself. “Everyone kissed someone tonight, and I-”

“It's okay,” Valerio exhales lightly. She knows that he can sense that she's about to cry again, that's why his voice is calm and reassurring, because none of this is okay. “It's fine, Lu.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the promised continuation! and warning, things get much more serious here, although it's very non-graphic, but i brought the rating up to mature just in case bc i know this is a sensitive topic (but it's so fascinating to write, i mean it's just so wrong and thats fun to write do you get me?)  
> also, this has mentions of eating disorders.

Lu loses eight kilos before the first day of school.

She barely talks to anyone to anyone for the remainder of summer break. All she does is eat salads, skip rope and go on runs with Valerio.

It's his fault the second time it happens, which makes it easier on _her_. She may have set the spark, but he was the one to turn it into flame.

“You're good,” he said that day. It was the first time she'd ran 10k.

“I know,” she said simply. They were stretching and she felt his eyes on the curve of her newly formed ass.

It was dizzying and so, so wrong, which made it even more dizzying.

That day, they were watching a stupid sitcom on the TV, him eating chips, her sipping lemon water. They were close, but not close enough to be unable to avoid touching. When he put a hand on her thigh, she squirmed.

He didn't pull away, his fingers tracing little ant-steps on her skin. She was wearing shorts.

She looked up, straight into his deep, dark eyes, and when he kissed her, she let him.

She doesn't think about why it's happening. The fact is, she feels like shit most of the time, tired, malnourished, lonely. He's the only one who makes her feel good. The fact that she's never experienced that _kind_ of good only makes it harder to stop.

Guzmán's jaw drops when he sees her by her new locker the first day of school. (He's much more obvious than Carla, who just smiled at her and said: “I love this new Lu.”)

 _He_ approaches her and almost stutters. “Um- Hi. Hi, Lu.”

“Hi,” she turns around, gazes over his features like they're not-so-interesting and definitely not setting her insides on fire, and closes her locker. “Sorry, I have to get to English,” she evades him skillfully, eyes purposely not on him.

“Let me walk you. You don't know your way around the school yet,” Guzmán smiles, irresistibly charming.

Lu smiles back, even wider and more genuine. “The classroom is right here. I'm pretty sure I know how to walk through a door.”

“But you could use someone to open it for you,” Guzmán doesn't let her set him off his course.

Well. 1:0 for him.

¤

Lu learns soon enough that no matter how hard she tries, he's _always_ bound to win. Because she's simply the one that will want him more; always, no matter what. She'll never let herself win if it means she'll lose him in the process.

It's okay to ignore that when he's not doing anything about it – when he's not pining on anyone else (simply because he doesn't have a better option; she's the hottest in class after Carla, long gone is the chubby nerdy girl with bows – the younger girls are pathetic, the older don't want him).

So she thinks. When she catches Guzmán kissing a sixteen-year old at a Christmas party, she cries in her room and then eats eight KitKats.

She sneaks into Valerio's room thirty minutes later, teeth brushed but eyes still puffy from the, at this point, evergreenish combination of crying and forced puking. Valerio snuggles her in his arms, even though he kinda has a girlfriend right now, but that doesn't matter. Lu is his _sister._

One of the many imaginary lines on their journey to hell is crossed two weeks later, because on New Year's Eve, Guzmán is in Asturias, he hasn't invited her, and she knows he has long-standing friends there. ( _Friends_ meaning girls two years older than them.)

She lets Valerio take it a step further than she normally would, just because she feels like utmost shit.

¤

That year is the damned year when all of them, within a span of months, turn from children into mini adults. The innocent kissing from a few months ago is long gone, sex isn't just a mystical word to giggle about, and getting pregnant from said act actually becomes possible.

Like everything in Carla's life, losing her virginity is an event planned meticulously to perfection. Lu almost helps her pick out the underwear she'll wear for Polo when she'll coyly strip in a bedroom filled with candles and roses.

Lu is viciously happy when Carla tells her about the experience.

“It hurt,” she complains, annoyed.

“How much?” Lu inquires. This is information she can use.

“I don't know,” Carla shrugs, then pulls on Lu's hair harshly. “Like this, maybe?”

“Ow,” Lu protests loudly. “That much?”

“I don't know, I don't need to tell you it's a different kind of pain,” Carla remarks bitterly. Lu kind of wants to laugh - or slap her. At least she has an _actual_ boyfriend.

“Did it at least feel nice after?”

“Well, I don't know. The whole time, I was kinda thinking: _Is_ this _it?_ ” Carla lands with her back flat on Lu's bed. “Sex is so overrated,” she groans. “Like, trust me, you're not missing anything.”

Lu bites her cheek. She hasn't had – sex, sure. Like, _sexual intercourse._

Ew. That term is disgusting. Thinking about all of this is disgusting. Especially considering the circumstances, but-

She's tried enough stuff to know that it _can_ feel good.

“How do you know I'm a virgin?” she half-jokes, plopping down onto her back next to the frustrated Carla. She hopes the warning bells are limited just to her head and aren't transmissible by some telepathic powers.

“I don't know,” Carla shrugs. “You and Guzmán aren't _really_ dating. Plus, I think you would've told me.” _Because you hate to lose._

She can _hear_ Carla's thought.

Lu chooses to focus on the most uncomfortable (spoken) part. “But like, we technically are.”

“Break up with him, then,” Carla groans. “Or don't sleep with him unless you can be sure he knows what he's doing.”

“It'll get better with – _practice_ ,” Lu comforts her awkwardly. It's impossible for this not to be embarrassing, even with Carla.

It probably would've been less embarrassing if she didn't have a handful of tips from sources that she can't name.

Jesus Christ, it hits her just _how_ fucked up she is. How reckless, how- Just how _bad_. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ They're not worth it, the moments of ecstasy, but it's the same principle as a drug addiction.

It's not worth it, but does that matter? No.

So, like everything pleasant in Lu's life, losing _her_ virginity happens secretly, wrongfully and shamefully. It happens like that because Guzmán and her just aren't dating and don't look like they will be, she's not miserable enough to allow him to fuck her _just like that_ , and unlike Carla, she can _feel_ the want.

Plus, the way it happens just doesn't count. She'd literally rather _die_ than admit it.

She also wanted to die, but with pleasure, when it happened, because Valerio knows how to do everything right.

¤

Lu is fifteen and a sophomore when she loses her virginity for real. Lu is fifteen when she gives up all her remaining pride, stops waiting for Guzmán to ask her to be his girlfriend, drinks way too much at a party and drags him into a guest room.

They've kissed like this before, it's the only way they have, actually – drunk and wild and careless and with no promises for the day after. The difference tonight is, they don't go back to dancing, they end up in that guest room with Guzmán's hand under Lu's skirt.

“Are you sure?” One last chance to save her remaining dignity.

“Yeah,” Lu breathes out, kisses him hungrily, bites his lip.

 _Seals her fate_.

Let it be said that Guzmán is much nicer to her when they're about to have sex than his default mode. He's smiling at her, bright and sparkly, the smile she fell in love with. “Does that feel good?” he asks, voice muted, hand in her panties.

“Yeah,” Lu nods, cheeks flushed more because of what's about to happen than Guzmán's efforts. “Just-” she guides his hand, trying very hard not to think about _who_ it is that Guzmán should mimick. “Like that-”

Guzmán's grin widens as she gasps into his shoulder when he follows her instructions. He's surely a quick learner; Lu bucking her lips is a pretty good guideline.

“It's hot that you know what you want,” he tells her, raspy and deeper and eyes less sparkly but fierce instead, pushing her down onto the bed.

Lu should probably feel bad for giving in; letting him have her without anything in return.

She doesn't. All she feels is bliss.

¤

Lu's had enough experience to know that nice sensations never last. Anything that feels good momentarily will bite her in the ass with regret a hundred times as big. Valerio, food, going out instead of studying.

Guzmán is no different.

She doesn't know who set the blurry (but not blurry _enough_ ) picture free into the relentless net that is Las Encinas' group chats, whatsapp calls and loud hallway whispers.

Carla entwines their arms in the school corridor, smiles at Lu reassurringly and shoots a death stare to the laughing and gesturing seniors passing them in the hallway a second later. Apperently, Lu's become so infamous that she reached the upperclassmen's world. She really thought she'd feel at least the tiniest bit of accomplishment at that, as sick as it is.

She's obviously not as jaded as she'd thought. There's not a trace of pride under the shame.

“How is that their business, huh?” Carla speaks loudly, distinctly rolling her eyes. “They're probably just jealous that they weren't hot enough to get laid as sophomores. Plus, everybody knows that you two are practically together, so what's their fucking problem?”

Lu doesn't answer, not thinking it would help, but she _really_ loves Carla in that moment.

“They're all hypocrites. I, for a fact, know that Victoria from senior year sucked some guy's dick in the bathroom when she was a _freshman_ ,” Carla continues, flipping her hair off her shoulder, effortlessly diva. “Their opinions of you are just _so_ irrelevant, Lu.”

She giggles at that. “How do you know that about Victoria?”

“Just heard it somewhere,” Carla shrugs. “Let's go get some lunch before they run out of goat cheese salads.”

She shakes off Polo, declaring their table a _guy-free zone_ , talks about completely random bullshit about her mother wanting a labradoodle to distract Lu from the encircling stares, and eventually just drags her up to her feet, buys a package of cookies in the vending machine and pushes Lu out the door. “Come on.”

Lu smiles uneasily when Carla plops down on the grass, tears open the plastic and hands a biscuit to Lu while already crunching on her own. “There you go. Solves all problems.”

She contemplates quickly before popping it in her mouth. “Thanks, Carla. For everything.”

“Don't thank me. That's what best friends are for,” Carla gleams, casually reaching for another cookie. She hasn't even finished her last one; it's making Lu anxious. “Come on, eat. I swear, sugar is a drug. It makes you forget about all your problems.”

 _Right_ , Lu thinks _._ But Carla's being too nice, and she can't bring herself to send it to hell.

She misses fifteen minutes of math because she's throwing up in the bathroom and the dough has gotten all lumpy and is super hard to puke. Her perfect eye-make-up is smudged by the end because of the strain.

What did she say about every nice thing inevitably turning into remorse?

¤

Guzmán stares at her like at an alien species or that disgusting pig lung they had to dissect in Biology when he opens the door. “Uh. What are you doing here?” he gets out after five seconds of very awkward silence.

“Is this a bad time?” Lu curses her impulsiveness, stupidity, _herself_. She suddenly feels like she's occupying way too much space solely by the bane of her existence.

“Uh. No,” Guzmán shakes his head, sounding about as convincing as when he said that the dissection did not make him nauseous and they were all being hysterical. “It's just that,” he lowers his voice, eyes on the ground. “I thought the two of us should keep a low profile considering what they're saying at school.”

“Yeah?” Lu stalls, thinking of the opposite.

“Yeah, well, some people are going about us _dating_ or something,” Guzmán murmurs. “I mean, we don't want them to spread that bullshit, right? And you coming to my house-”

“Totally,” Lu whimpers, turns around without saying goodbye and manages three steps before her vision is absolutely obstructed by tears. She stumbles out of his garden blindly, leans her back on the closed gate, slides down and cries for at least ten minutes.

¤

“Valerio?”

The room is dark. It's so dark that some people would simply assume that there's no _Valerio_ hidden in the silence.

Not Lu, though. She switches the light on, an annoyed grumble echoes from behind Valerio's bed. “Get lost, Lu.”

“No,” she shakes her head rampantly, walks over, sees him flat on the ground. “Get up.”

“Why should I?” His eyes are closed, but not peacefully like in sleep. They're closed like he never wants to open them again, like he's using all the force in his body to keep them that way.

“I don't know, I think I have a few good reasons,” Lu purrs, squatting down.

“Cut the bullshit, Lu. I'm not in the mood for this.” She freezes instantly; that's _never_ the case. “I'm not in the mood for _you_.”

“You're not in the mood for me?” she asks incredulously, fine hair on her arms standing on ends. _No, no, no._

“That's what I said already,” Valerio utters dryly, yet somehow also like every word hurts. “Go away.”

Now, she's not just sad or desperate or in need of reassurrance. She's enraged. “Get the fuck up!” she practically yells into his face. Valerio twitches, but his eyelids are still shut.

“I don't wanna do this anymore, Lu. All you do is use me when you feel like shit, and then you make _me_ feel like shit,” Valerio retorts, finally squinting at her. His eyes are blood-red. “I mean it. This has to stop.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Lu laughs, deep and unnatural. It's more like a spit. “Right. You think you can randomly start fingering your fourteen-year old half-sister on the couch and that's the end of the story?”

“Oh, Lu,” Valerio draws out lazily, “I really love how you can make anything into somebody else's fault. You should get a medal for it.”

Lu's still leaning over him and he's still on the ground. They look like a bizzare statue; an angry marble little girl over a dead man's body.

“I swear to god, if anyone ever finds out, you'll make all the times you knocked on my door at night look like I dragged you here by your _pigtails_ ,” he continues, anger growing under badly kept nonchalance. Valerio acts like he doesn't care, but Lu is the one who knows it's just that: an act. Valerio's anything but aloof – he's a volcano waiting to erupt, and she's the earthquake that makes him do it.

“Which is why I'm not in the mood for you, Lu,” he finishes, dark eyes staring deep into hers. “Not now, not _ever_.”

The kiss is a violent show of power. Lu presses her hand on his crotch and ignores his violent push back. He grabs onto her hair harshly, not in pigtails – just skillfully crafted curls that she spent forty minutes on.

“You're _poison_ ,” he gets out, breathing heavy. “You're gonna kill me one time.”

“You're making me,” she returns, feeling her long-awaited trip reaching her brain, more effective than whatever drug that Valerio's been on.

He kisses her harshly because he knows it's true.

Valerio and her aren't like her and Guzmán. They crash and burn _together_.

¤

All of the pathetic stereotypes about guys and girls are true: hard-to-get is the best technique to make yourself much more desirable.

Lu doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry when Guzmán comes up to her after they barely spoke for ten days and asks her, fakely blasé: “We're having a party at our house this Friday, Marina and I. Are you coming?”

“I don't know,” Lu shrugs, disinterested. “I don't think I wanna relive the tragedy of your parents coming home early.”

“I'll make sure it doesn't happen this time,” Guzmán runs his hand through his hair, ducking his chin into his chest, grinning. “I promise.”

“ _I_ still can't _promise_ anything,” Lu shakes her head a little, savagely ignoring her insides being rotated. Good thing she has a lot of experience with handling an upset stomach.

“That's a shame. I want you there,” Guzmán gives her a _look_ , a casual brush of fingers on her arm and a slight nod of his head. “I hope you can make it, Lu.”

“Bye,” she says, because she's about one-hundred and twenty percent sure that if she doesn't leave now, she'll fall into Guzmán's arms and all her efforts will crumble.

¤

He grabs her by the waist the second she walks in, more than fashionably late. He doesn't stop looking at her the entire time, spinning her around on the dance floor, laughing no matter what she says (he's drunk, she's getting there quickly). “I missed you,” he whispers in her ear, purple lights and thumping beats in the background, and kisses her in the middle of the dance floor. Right under everyone's noses, with Carla and Polo and Marina meters away from them. She pulls apart, he smiles at her, kisses her again.

When she gets home the next morning, giddy and elated and just a little bit sick, Guzmán's hoodie over her dress, she finds her brother's life packed into suitcases and his room already being turned into a home-gym.

Valerio had passed out in the hallway in his own puke. Their father found him there at four in the morning.

He's being sent back to Chile.

¤

Guzmán backs off, like he always does. Valerio isn't _here_. Lu eats KitKats like chainsmokers smoke cigarettes, pukes every day, until she mostly stops eating at all because her father had somehow, despite his lacking presence in her life, noticed her _unhealthy behavioral patterns_ and threatened her with therapy.

She smiles at school while she kicks into everyone and everything that give her any slightest reason to.

If _she's_ utterly miserable, everyone else might as well be.

“I hate you,” she breaks down one time, leaving a voicemail on Valerio's abandoned number. “I hate you, I hate you so much. Please, come home. I'll talk dad into it. _Please_.”

 _This number doesn't exist_ five days later. She doesn't even get radio silence anymore; she gets _nothing_.

¤

He comes home for Christmas. Lu wants to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

She gets one of her wishes fulfilled that night in bed. It's just as she remembers, it's torture by ecstasy. It's Valerio breathing down her neck, probably actually _on_ ecstasy. She can't really blame him – she thinks she'd need more than that to be able to cope with the openly judgmental stares of their extended family.

“I missed you so much,” he tells her, arm wrapped firmly around her core. “Fuck, you have no idea how much, Lu.”

“Me too,” she barely whispers, but she knows he heard her by the way he turns around, brushes her hair off her face tenderly nad kisses her like she's a pristine porcellain doll.

(Making it more special, because he _knows_ she's everything but that.)

They fall asleep in his bed. His door is locked and so is hers.

¤

She's just a little bit high on Molly and New Year's nostalgia, kissing Valerio and laughing and not thinking about the caloric residue from the holiday meals or how it makes controlling herself that much harder. She's also not thinking about how he's leaving tomorrow.

She giggles into his mouth – they're in _her_ room this time – and softly moaning, just like she knows he likes. (Maybe he just likes that out of necessity; she's never thought of that. There's none of that today, though, their father is at a corporate party and under the impression that his children are partying in one of Madrid's elite clubs renowned for having an almost completely underage clientele.)

“Lu,” he falls down next to her, satin sheets and rough curls and sharply cut-jaw softened by some higher powers, “I-”

“What?” she giggles, because she's high and he's being serious, which just doesn't go.

“I love you,” he breathes out.

Her phone buzzes on the nighstand next to her. _Happy New Year! Hope yours is going better than mine, Asturias with my parents is so lame, ugh -_- Can't wait to see you at school <3_

“Valerio,” she says, high gone as quick as it came, voice quiet yet strong. “This can't happen again. _Ever_.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [loquenomedices](https://loquenomedices.tumblr.com/) do whatever you want with it! if you want anything written, send me a prompt! (i'm trying to get out of the carmuel depression hole by writing more about different ships...)  
> thanks for reading, hope you liked it <3


End file.
